


drops of mourning

by Frosted-Soil (Jackson_Overland_Frost)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author is grieving, Deadbur - Freeform, Deadinnit, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Major character death happens off-screen, Revivedbur is going to do some murder next chapter, This is mostly a grief fic but maybe we will do some healing idk, even if the characters aren't healing I hope we the content consumers are, healing media
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackson_Overland_Frost/pseuds/Frosted-Soil
Summary: Wilbur meets someone unexpected in the afterlife.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	drops of mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I'm mourning Tommy just like everyone else in this fandom and despite the fact that I almost cried over him earlier I still don't think it's sunk it considering I can still write something semi-legible anyways I did this instead of literally any of my WIPs that have actual deadlines, I hope I did something to help this fandom heal <3

The autumn leaves swirled around him, wind ruffling his hair and whispering in his ears. It was perpetually autumn in this place, the season of death in shades of red and gold and brown. Wilbur wasn’t permitted the quiet rest of winter, to sit in the snow and forget. He wasn’t allowed the rebirth of spring, the vitality and life of summer. It was perpetually autumn in this place, trees stretching bare branches towards the sky and the ground coated in crisp fallen leaves picked up easily by the slightest breeze. Sometimes they frosted over, sometimes it rained, but Wilbur was never too cold, and never got wet. 

He grasped his trenchcoat to his chest as the wind whipped into him, pulling him strongly in some direction. Wilbur had been seeing it again, recently. Flashes of his younger brother, just in the corner of his vision. A flash of red, of blond hair and a loud wheezing laugh, carried to him on the breeze. After Tommy had put Dream in prison, it had stopped appearing, but recently… 

The wind picked up again, nearly pushing him off balance, and he went along with it, carried by the breeze. Easier than standing still, resisting. He emerged from the forest, into the golden grassy plains, wheat and tall grass nearly up to his chest. There were a few paths trodden through the fields, Wilbur knew, but he wasn’t close to any of them. The wind blew him into the field, and he nearly flinched as a familiar presence brushed his shoulder before vanishing. He shook his head to himself. Tommy was alive – he had put Dream into Pandora’s Box, and who else would truly harm him? Wilbur took a few steps into the field, letting the wind take him along, when it suddenly died down. 

Silence. 

No rustling of grass. No crackling of leaves. No ever-present roar of wind in his ears, a breeze that ever stopped in this plane, in this death world. Until now. 

“Wilbur?” someone said, behind him. Another illusion, another apparition of his younger brother here to haunt him. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend that it was actually Tommy, coming to find him and calling him home to dinner. “Hey bitch, Wilbur are you fuckin deaf or some shit? Turn around you bastard, don’t be fuckin rude.”

Caught up in the fantasy, Wilbur whipped around. “Fucking  _ what _ , Tommy, is it–” 

Tommy was there at the treeline, bruised black and blue, blood streaming down his face from a cut above his hairline and a bloody nose, staining his favorite red and white shirt. His arms were wrapped around his ribs protectively, and his face was twisted with pain into a scowl. Red and gold, like the leaves around him. Without thinking, Wilbur rushed forward, only for Tommy’s face to screw up even more as he took an unsteady step back. 

“ _ Tommy _ ?” he asked, planting his feet. “Tommy. How the hell– how the  _ fuck _ are you here.” It wasn’t a question. He already knew. 

“I fuckin died, idiot.” Tommy retorted. 

Wilbur took another step forward. To his relief, Tommy didn’t keep on backing away. “How. Who did it to you.” He swore to whatever god there was in this fucked up world, if his little brother said–

“Dream.” Tommy’s eyes flashed, and Wilbur’s lips pressed tight. He took another step towards him, now within arm’s length. “The fuckin bastard.” 

“You put him in prison.”  _ Did he escape?  _

“It’s… complicated.” Tommy swayed, stumbled, and stayed upright. “He’s still in there. I was just trapped in the cell with ‘im for too long, and he... He–”

His eyes flashed again, and this time he nearly collapsed. Wilbur lurched forward and caught him before he hit the ground, and Tommy was too thin, too light. When was the last time Wilbur had held his younger brother like this, had supported him? Shortly after they had escaped towards Pogtopia perhaps, Tommy exhausted as they looked for a place to rest for the night. He wasn’t nearly as light, back then, though it was months ago by now. Years, even. 

“ _ Bastard _ ,” Wilbur snarled into Tommy’s ear, and felt him flinch. He toned down the anger in his voice, tapping into the soothing persuasiveness he used to charm an entire country with. “ _ The sonova bitch should’ve just stayed fucking down. _ ”

“I told him he was going to be in prison forever.” Tommy’s breath shook as he exhaled, and Wilbur pulled him closer, mindful of his ribs. “I told him it was the last time he was going to see me, that I was done with him for good. I– ha. I guess he just had to make  _ fucking _ sure of it. God he is such a– Dream is such a  _ fucking bastard _ . You know he took all of my lives, Wilbur?” 

“All three?” he asked. Wilbur knew that two of them were, but– 

“ _ TommyInnit hit the ground too hard whilst trying to escape Dream. TommyInnit was shot by Dream. _ ” Tommy drew in another shaking breath. “ _ TommyInnit was  _ **_slain_ ** _ by Dream. _ ”

Wilbur’s own death messages were burned into the inside of his eyelids. When he blinked, “ _ WilburSoot was slain by Ph1LzA _ ” played in dancing lights, a show for him alone, pressed to the front of his skull. Tommy’s eyes were screwed shut, and he had no doubt that the same kind of message played inside his head. At least Wilbur had the good fortune to die in the loving embrace of his father, that the last person he ever heard or saw was Phil. Tommy’s last life, every single one of his lives, was taken by the villain, by the man who had exiled him and manipulated him and traumatized a  _ sixteen year old boy too many times to count _ . And that information was seared onto the mind of Wilbur’s little brother. 

“I do want to be brought back to life, Tommy,” Wilbur soothed, sing-songed into brother’s ear. “If only to take the last life of that bastard of a man. It would bring me so much more joy to avenge you than to stay here.” 

“You just fuckin like revenge,” Tommy accused. 

“Perhaps,” Wilbur allowed. “But this time it will be for you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this is purely self-indulgence, but maybe revivedbur murder next chapter? maybe some murder?


End file.
